


Who Are You?

by OneShotWonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneShotWonder/pseuds/OneShotWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaret, a social worker for St. Francis Memorial Hospital, gets a new case; a mysterious boy with old scars, a strange family, and an attitude that suggests he knows more than he is letting on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Are You?

Margaret pulled her hair back into a swift ponytail and threw a coat on over her white lace night shirt. It was close enough to a real shirt that she didn’t bother changing; she was in a hurry and looked presentable enough for the hospital. She grabbed her keys in haste, fumbled with her bag and ran out the door.

As she pulled out of the driveway the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon and the air held the quiet pulse of predawn. It wasn’t so uncommon for her to be running to the hospital in the wee hours and she was actually grateful it was almost 6am, which meant she had close to a full night’s sleep.

She was the on-call social worker for St. Francis Memorial Hospital and although the hours mostly sucked, she loved her job. There was a feeling of actually making a difference in the world when she got to help someone who truly needed it.

This morning’s case was that of a 17 year old boy who was in the hospital after some kind of accident. She didn’t have all the details yet, but the doctor suspected some kind of abuse. This was a pretty average case for her, but it was always hard to investigate anything involving the harm of children. Ever since she was a girl she had an overwhelming faith in humanity, but it seemed like every one of these cases tore a bit at her beliefs.

Her flat shoes clicked uncomfortably loudly above the quiet buzz of the hospital as she swiftly made her way to Dr. Jones' office. She grimaced at her face in the refection of the door and knocked impatiently. Dark circles were drawn under her eyes and her skin looked pale and sickly in the fluorescent lights of the hall. She pulled the band out of her hair and let it hang down, feeling the need to hide her sallow face a bit from another professional.

The doctor opened the door and waved her in with a motion of her hand. Dr. Jones was a tall woman in her late 40’s with the perfect posture of a dancer and most of the grace. She aged well and her long fingers flicked a signal at Margaret to sit down while she spoke curtly into the cell phone she held.

“Thank you, yes, ok, I will follow up in 24 hours.” She let out a small breath of relief as she set the phone down on her desk, leaning against it and handing a folder to the case worker.

“Margaret,” the older woman crowed with warmth, “I hope you are well, we have a strange one for you.” Dr. Jones’ tone was professional and to the point, she was adept at not wasting time.

“Seventeen year old boy was brought in by his father last night after apparently being chased by a wolf off the south highway.” Her tone was incredulous, but she went on.

“He has a few broken ribs, fractured ankle, and lost a lot of blood due to a few deep lacerations; but he will pull through with only a few minor scars.” She took a breath, looking somehow exhausted and overly alert at the same time.

“Ok, strange story but why did you call me? Sounds like a case for animal control.”

“Yeah, they are already on it, there has actually been a wolf attacking people off the highway recently, so I don't think his story is bullshit.” She continued, “We anesthetized him to set the bones and found a notable amount of old scars. The x-rays also showed signs of at least three previously broken bones.”

The doctor gestured at the folder in Margaret’s hands with a sad expression, “take a look.”

Margaret opened the folder and quickly read through the boy’s chart; noting his name, family and the questionnaire that his father had filled out about his past hospitalizations.

“Mother is deceased, sum kind of house fire back in '83, father has sole custody. Looks like the father didn’t mention anything about his past injuries.” It wasn’t a good sign, but she forced herself to keep an open mind. It wouldn’t do any good to start accusing the father of malfeasance without more information.

She flipped the page and couldn’t help taking in a small breath of surprise at the photos scattered in the back of the folder. The first one was the boy’s stomach. The most obvious scarring was three long gashes across his abdomen, stretching from under his rib to his hipbone, they were white with age but stood up from his skin quite fiercely. If she didn’t know any better, the case worker would have said they came from a beast with huge claws. She shuddered at the thought.

As she looked closer he also had various other scars, some small healed over cuts on his chest, and what looked like a half healed burn mark on his shoulder. She flipped through the rest of the photos one at a time, cataloging the old injuries in her mind to ask the boy once she got a chance to talk to him. He had bruises on his back and arms in various stages of healing from reddish brown to light green. He had a few fingers that looked as though they had been broken and not set properly, slightly bent in a strange way that only a professional would notice. He had an old burn scar on his left leg and his right thigh had a round scar that was clearly a bullet wound.

She tried to keep her emotions in check, but she felt a slow familiar burn of anger and hatred for whoever hurt this boy. Her mind raced while she put the pieces together like a puzzle to try and figure out what happened to him. Margaret was good at her job, in a normal case she could just look at a few pictures, read the background of a person, and their story became as clear in her head as if she saw the events themselves. She could pinpoint a drug addict within a few seconds look at their chart, an abused child, a teen in a gang within the first few minutes of seeing the injuries. But this was not a normal case. She scrunched up her face and felt confused, the usual snap that pulled the picture together was not happening in this case. Was she losing her touch?

She closed the folder and Dr. Jones was already flicking switch on the white light box that held the boy’s x-rays. The white bones shone through the black paper and Margaret waited patiently while the doctor showed her the boy’s new injuries, as well as the old. When she was finished she sat down in her chair, a little too delicately and took off her glasses with gloomy expression. The doctor rubbed her face while she spoke, trying to hide how much the boy’s injuries had gotten to her.

“He is in 405, I can make sure the family is away while you speak to him.”

Margaret nodded, still trying to work out what happened to the boy in her mind.

“Let me read through the file once more, I will be in to talk to him in 20.”

\--

When Margaret stepped into the room she was shocked at how aware the boy looked, he had been through a lot that night and she suspected he would be a bit out of it. But he was already struggling to sit up when she introduced herself, bright green eyes holding a fierce intelligence, and _impatience_.

“I am Margaret,” she held out her hand, “Please don’t try to get up, you must still be in a lot of pain.”

He nodded and grabbed the control for the bed, letting it slowly take him halfway to sitting before grimacing in pain.

“You aren’t a doctor.” He stated matter-of-factly, and then his lip curled up into a mischievous lopsided grin, “you here for my sponge bath?”

 She smiled, but mentally noted how he used humor to deflect and started mapping out ways around it.

“I am a case worker; I was called in this morning to talk to you about your injuries.”

His face flashed briefly with alarm at the word “case worker” but he hastily replaced it with an impassive mask.

“Where are my dad and brother? They ok?”

“Yes, they just have a few cuts and bruises, they will heal fine.”

He didn’t hold back his visible sigh of relief. Then back to the slightly sardonic smile. It was tired and his eyes suddenly looked much older than they had any right to be. Margaret knew that look. It was the look of a kid who saw too much, who knew too much. She was determined to get to the bottom of why.

“Well thanks for stopping by but I don’t need a case worker and the doc said I will heal just fine. If you could send in my little bro on your way out I would appreciate it.”

“Dean, I think you know it doesn’t work that way. Plus, I am not here to talk about your recent injuries." She paused to let that sink in.  "The doctors called me in because they found some old scars and broken bones that looked suspicious.”

His eyes became hard when she used his name but his face didn’t move when she mentioned the old injuries.

She handed him the folder of his chart, making sure to move just a little too fast to catch his reaction. Instead of flinching he caught the folder with surprising quickness and he looked genuinely curious to look at the contents. He wasn’t acting like someone who had been abused, he seemed comfortable and in control of all his actions, but she noted something almost feral about his eyes. This was a strange case indeed. She still had no idea what could have caused his injuries and he wasn’t acting like any other case she had in the past.

She watched him closely as his eyes flicked over the pictures of the old scars on his body, the small print outs of the x-rays that showed his history of broken bones. His face betrayed no emotion, just a clinical inquisitiveness that could have come from one of her colleagues looking at the file. He closed the folder and the jokester returned.

“You could have at least bought me dinner before taking the racy photos.” He laughed, but there was no humor in his eyes.

He handed the folder back to her and she noted the scars on his hand, especially his knuckles, like he had been in multiple fights. This correlated with the old wrist fracture, called a boxers fracture, which was caused by repeatedly hitting a stationary object. Did he just get into one too many fights?

“Can you tell me how you got those scars?” She asked, pushing her features into the shape of trustworthiness with just a hint of pity.

“I can, but I don’t think you would believe me.” He said, still with the raised eyebrow and flirting grin.

“Try me.”

He hadn’t expected that and his face darkened, closing his eyes and pulling down one hand over his face. He looked at her again, searching her face for something and she struggled to keep the same open expression as he looked straight into her eyes.

“Look lady, you seem nice and I know you are just trying to do your job here,” he paused and suddenly looked very tired.

“I know I look like some poor kid who was abused, or joined a gang, or was the victim of one too many bullies. But that isn’t the case here and you are just going to have to trust me.”

He suddenly felt like an equal to Margaret and she was confused at the shift in the room. He was so sure of himself and steady that she didn’t feel like she was talking to a teen at all. She pulled herself up, trying to regain the power in her position.

“You know I can’t just leave here without some answers. You could be in danger and the state made you my responsibility the minute I got that phone call. I have to do my job.”

“I know.” He took a breath and smiled again. This time it was genuine, touching the corners of his eyes.

“And I do appreciate that, I really do, but I can’t tell you the situation. All I can say is that I was in danger, and now I am not anymore. And if I ever run into that kind of danger again, I have my dad and my brother to protect me.” His eyes swelled with pride at the mention of his family. She couldn’t help but feel the love he had for them both and a fierce sense of protectiveness came off him, despite the fact he had mentioned _them_ protecting _him_.

“It’s written here that your dad travels for work a lot, is it just the three of you?”

“Yep.” He picked at a fingernail, expecting the next question and bracing for it.

“And your mother? Where is she?”

“You already know that, so why are you asking? Is me saying it going to change anything?”

His eyebrows started to knit together, but he didn’t blink, keeping very still like his emotions would spill if he moved too fast.

“You are right, I do know, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

He looked up at her inquisitively, not expecting a blatant apology from an adult.

“So what happened tonight in the woods?” Maybe she could get around his stubbornness and try again to reach the truth from another angle.

“Like my dad said, we pulled over so I could take a leak, some kind of animal came after me, and I fell down the hill. It looked like a wolf, damn it was huge!” He gestured with his hands, filling the space in front of him. "Dad and Sammy came after me and I guess they grabbed me up away from it. Don't remember much really."

The story was short and to the point, just the facts with no feelings and almost word for word the father’s story. It was obviously rehearsed but she couldn’t think of a reason why it would be. If he really got attacked by an animal, then why the fake story? The injuries sure looked like an animal attack. There were also news reports lately of animal attacks in the area, she had seen it, and the boy’s story seemed plausible.

“How did that make you feel?” She started to pry into the emotional side of the attack.

“Scared as hell!” He said, but his eyes held pride and triumph and he couldn’t keep the smile off his mouth.

This wasn’t adding up. She felt confused, like she didn’t know which way was up anymore. She had stubborn clients before, but she had never left a room without having a firm grasp of what was going on. He was proud when he talked about getting attacked by a wolf. That didn’t make any sense. She would have to change tactics again.

“You almost died tonight, Dean. You were very lucky you father had first aid training in the military.”

“We are all going to die.” His expression didn’t change. It was matter-of-fact and unemotional. Like someone who had accepted death as inevitable. Teenagers weren’t supposed to wear that expression, they were supposed to think they were invincible, that they would survive and outlive any danger they faced. She had only seen this kind of acceptance in her elderly patients who had already fought through the stages of grief.

Who was this kid? He had no hint of trauma, he acted as an adult would in a child’s body and spoke of life like he knew something huge that she couldn’t comprehend. If she wouldn’t have known any better, she would have thought she was talking to one of the police officers she had worked with. He held the kind of self-confidence, the knowledge of the inevitable and the fearlessness of death that only came with a mission and doing the right thing. She took that and ran with it.

“Do you feel like you were put here to do something great, Dean?”

“Like a mission from God?” His eyebrows moved together in thought.

“Haven’t thought too much about the big guy upstairs, I am just trying to do what’s right.” There was a bit of anger in his face, but it seemed he felt resolved to speak to her frankly, even though the walls were up for his past.

“So what is _right_ , for you?”

He looked at her for a long time, seeing something of his past and a tenderness and deep sadness filled the room like a weight.

“Just trying to save people, you know? You can’t understand, and I can’t make you understand.” His eyes got hard again, but the sadness and defeat didn’t go away.

“Look, you have two options here." he said, becoming authoritative and decisive.

"One, you can call child services; have them haul me out of whatever “dangerous situation” you think I am in. In that case, by the time you are done with all the paperwork and I can actually get placed into foster care, I will be 18 and you won’t be able to keep me. Anyway you wouldn’t even make it that far; I would run before you could dot your i's.” She raised her eyebrow at him, but she could see clearly that this wasn’t a threat, he was stating a fact, and he somehow _knew_ that he would be able to get away, no matter what would happen to him.

“Two, you walk away. You write up on your fancy documents that I am mentally stable or whatever they need you to say and you let me get back to my –family.” She knew he wanted to say “job” instead of “family.” But she still didn’t quite get it.

This boy, or really she should say man, knew what he was doing with his life. She couldn’t place how she was sure, but she was, she knew for a fact no matter what her actions were here, he would end up with his family again, doing whatever it was they did. Her only decision was to either make it easier for him, or hard on him. She was defeated, and confused, but the trust she had for Dean had shaken her to the core. Somehow she knew he was one of the good guys, somehow she knew he was going to go do good things.

She stood up to leave, she needed time to think and put this case together, those intelligent green eyes of his were not helping her make a rational decision.

“I will be back tomorrow, I will think about what you said and in turn, I only ask that you think on what you would be willing to share with me. Rest well, Dean.”

 

But the next day, when she walked into room 405, she wasn't even surprised that he was gone. 


End file.
